Remembering Her
by awriterinafandom
Summary: A series of one-shots with characters from the series remembering Sybil on the one-year anniversary of her death.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi guys! This is a one-shot that was inspired one night when I was listening to some relaxing music one night when I was trying to cope with my insomnia. I hope you like it x**

Mary wandered through the halls of Downton. It was mid-morning, and a gentle sunshine penetrated through the windows. Yet the good weather did nothing to change her sombre mood. It had been one year today since she had lost her baby sister Sybil. It had been one year, but she still felt the same empty sadness that had come over her when the fits of Sybil's eclampsia had stopped and everyone gathered around the bed had realised what had happened. She smoothed her hand over her black dress and across the small bump gently protruding from her stomach. Matthew had been so nervous when Dr Clarkson had confirmed the pregnancy, and besieged the man with questions about the fatal condition that had taken her sister. Thankfully things were looking healthy.

As she approached the drawing room to read the book she had collected from the library, she heard the faint strains of the piano being played. _Edith_ , she thought. All three of the sisters had taken music lessons in their youth. Mary had always done well at singing, but her talent was rivalled with the piano playing that Edith excelled in. She stood in the open doorway, listening. She recognised the piece as Debussy's _Clair de Lune_ and her heart constricted. It was Sybil's favourite piece. Her ability never matched Edith's but she adored it and played it as well as she was able as often as she could.

Mary stepped into room, approaching the piano in the corner. She stood there for two minutes listening, until Edith finished playing. When she did so, she looked up and saw Mary. She smiled weakly at her elder sister. "She used to play it so much. Do you remember?" she asked in reminiscent tones.

"I was just thinking that," Mary replied. The music replayed in her head, Sybil's clumsy attempts as a child and Edith's beautiful rendition just now. She felt tears well up in her eyes. "I wish she was here with us," she choked out.

"Me too," Edith said simply, and Mary saw the glassy look glazed across her eyes flooded with pain and sadness.

"That's why you played it, isn't it?" Mary summarised. "Too feel close to her?"

Edith only nodded. "I can't stop thinking about her. The way she screamed until she didn't scream anymore and the silence afterwards. It didn't suit her. She was always so bright and colourful and lively. She was made to live."

Mary let her tears fall. Slowly Edith stood up from behind the piano and made her way towards her sister, sobbing as she did so. Reaching out she took Mary's hand. And then she pulled her sister into an embrace.

It didn't matter that the majority of the time they couldn't stand each other. Today was different. Today was the day when they needed each other as sisters. Today was the day when they loved each other. As sisters should.

 **What did you think? I currently don't have anything to write so if you want me to write anything, let me know. Also, please review. That would make my day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi readers! First off, thanks to all of you that reviewed the first chapter. Some of you left requests, for certain ships so I've decided to write a big multi-chapter fanfiction, where I can hopefully include these. For now, enjoy this x**

Tom stood staring at the smooth stone tomb that sat atop the grass. He had laid down the bouquet of flowers. It was a large bunch of roses, that were an orangey-yellow colour with a blushing pink at the edge of the petal. Rosa Peace. She had once told him the name of the beautiful flowers, stating they were her favourite. He remembered when her face lit up on the morning of her twenty-fourth birthday when she had seen the small bunch of roses sitting on the kitchen table for her. She had kissed him passionately on the lips, squealing in delight and ecstasy about them.

He remembered the way her lips felt against his. They were soft and warm and full and pink and very slightly chapped. He remembered how she kissed him at the end of her long day of working at the hospital. He remembered how it felt to run his fingers through her hair and how he loved to stroke it, feel the light silkiness of it brush over him in a dark curtain. He loved it even more when she had got it cut, embracing the modern woman that lived inside of her. As the memories flooded his mind her tried to keep the tears at bay.

In his hands he turned over the small flat jewellery box again and again, trying to distract himself. Old Lady Grantham had requested he come by the Dower House today about a week ago. When he arrived, he had been surprised that she presented him with a box, which when opened, contained a pair small elegant diamond earrings. She explained that they were intended as a gift for Sybil when her social season was over, but when war was declared, she had put them away and forgotten about them. "I then intended to give them to her after the birth of her first child," she explained. "But it wasn't exactly a celebratory time after what happened." He could hear the sadness in her voice as she explained that she wanted him to have them, and give them to Sybbie when she became sixteen.

He looked down at the box, thinking. Even before opening it, he sensed it might be jewellery, but he had expected something dazzling and ostentatious. In contrast, there were minimalist and simple. As he stared at them, he realized how much Sybil's grandmother had cherished her. How much they had all cherished her. Not just the Crawley family, but the people from downstairs that he had worked with before his dreams of him and Sybil finally came true.

His train of thought was suddenly broken as he heard footsteps approaching. To his surprise he saw Matthew. He looked rather sombre as he walked towards Tom holding a bunch of blue, yellow and pink carnations entwined with sprays of tiny white daisies. He lay them next to Tom's bouquet then stood staring at the stone. To Tom's surprise, he felt Matthew's arm reach out, and wrap around him. "I can't pretend I miss her as much as you do Tom," he murmured. "Because no-one will. But I'm sorry she's gone just as much as you."

Matthew kept his arm around Tom, the man he considered his brother. He felt that today, everyone would need support to get through the day. They all missed Sybil, every one of them in the house. He remembered that she seemed to accept him more than most when he first arrived from Manchester in 1912, when she was passionately protesting about the vote. Then he remembered that she had left those she loved for someone she loved above all else. So he kept his arm wrapped round Tom, holding him steady as they both tried to face the day of remembering her.

 **How could I leave out the bromance? Although I'm not sure if I did a good job it so let me know in the reviews. I basically live for reviews. Thinking of adding a third chapter, where I will take on Cora and Robert. After that, we'll see!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi readers! Here is chapter 3. As promised, it's my take on Cora and Robert. Keep forgetting to say this, but everything belongs to Julian Fellowes. Otherwise, things may have ended differently. I'm dedicating this to all of the lovely people that have reviewed, followed or favourited so far. Every time it happens, it makes me so happy. Anyway enjoy!**

Listening to the gravel crunch beneath him as he walked, Robert gazed around the grounds of Downton, breathing in the fresh Yorkshire air. He spotted Cora sitting on a bench by herself, in the shade of a large oak tree. Hesitating, he stood still, debating on whether or not to approach her. This morning when they awoke, he had murmured a "good morning", squeezed her hand and left the room to get dressed. Doubt began to fill him, keeping him rooted to the spot. When they had finally managed to get past Sybil's death and Cora had stopped pushing him away, they had grown stronger than ever. But surely a one year anniversary of the horrible event was bound to make old memories surface?

In the end he made his way over to her, Isis bounding along at his side. He sat on the edge of the bench silently. She didn't say anything, so he stared ahead at the oak tree. He recollected how, in her youth, Sybil had attempted to scale the trunk, clinging to the twisted gnarled bark and reaching for the lower branches in the hope of pulling herself higher. _Even as a child she was a rebel_ , he thought fondly. _And when she became a woman she took it too a new level_. He couldn't help but remember the her spirited arguments about women's rights and the vote. He also recalled when she had gone to Ripon for the count. Those were the old days. Then the war had come and she'd become a nurse. After that, all had changed and she had left them behind for a new life in Dublin.

He was startled when Cora suddenly broke the silence, pulling him out of his reverie. "How old was she when she tried to climb the tree?" she asked.

"Eight, if memory serves correctly," he replied.

She smiled slightly and extended her arm towards him, holding out her hand. He took it hesitantly, stroking her fingers encased in the leather. Her deep blue eyes looked into his. "I know what you're thinking Robert. But you should know that I don't blame you."

"Really darling?" he asked. "I could certainly understand why you would if you did feel that that I was to blame."

She was looking down now, but he saw a tear fall from between her lashes. "You know what Dr. Clarkson told us. You know how I feel," she said fiercely.

He could only nod at her. The tear had slid down her face, gliding freely across every contour of her skin. But her voice was steady, and he marvelled at the strength of his wife. "I'm done pushing you away Robert. In fact I rather need someone to sit and recount my memories of her with."

Her voice was thick with emotion now and he could see more tears falling down her face. Without hesitation he shifted along the bench and swept her into his arms, holding her close. "Just stay here then," he breathed into her hair. "Because I've got as many memories as you."

 **I know this was different from previous chapters, but I felt that it had to be this way, so we could focus on their relationship and how they would have felt. Please, please, please review. That's all I ask. Next chapter, at the suggestion of Rosie80, I'm going to take on Thomas remembering Sybil.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello friends! Here is chapter 4, and as promised this one is about Thomas, written for Rosie80 who requested it. I hope you all enjoy it.**

He had slipped out of the servants hall and into the courtyard bathed in moonlight, a pack of cigarettes and lighter in hand. Sitting down on the bench he pulled them out and lit one. Inhaling the clouds of smoke, he tried to breathe normally. But there was a choked up sob stuck somewhere within his throat. He coughed trying to release it, and in doing so a he felt tears well up in his eyes.

He couldn't help feel strange, a grown man crying. _Maybe it's only my kind that do it_ , he thought bitterly. Then he reprimanded himself thoroughly. He knew why he was so upset. It had been one year since they'd been gathered in the servants hall and told by Mr Carson that Lady Sybil had passed away. To think that his emotions were out of check because he was different from most men was an insult to her memory.

There had never been many people kind to him in his life. Perhaps that was due to him. He'd always kept a cool exterior, ever since he realised how things were. That way he was never close to anyone, never friends with anyone and he wouldn't get hurt. That way was safer. But Lady Sybil had been different. She hadn't cared for his sarcastic comments, or his manipulative ways or the fact that he was determined not to make friends. She'd just been kind to him, the way she was to everyone.

After he'd come back from France, he'd been assigned to work in the hospital. He'd found it rather amusing at first, watching her tend to the wounded instead of doing charity work to "help the men over in France". But after a week or two, he'd been seriously impressed when he witnessed her deal with a seriously wounded chap who had arrived pale and gaunt, his body scarred with bloody cuts and scratches. She was completely unperturbed by the man.

Every now and then, they would find themselves in each other's company during the short snatched lunch breaks. They had talked heatedly, often finding themselves in a friendly argument in which they had fired retorts at each other with the speed and ferocity of the bullets fired in the battlefields. One sunny afternoon in April 1917, she had had left him stumped with her answer and burst into a fit of giggles when he couldn't reply. Her head had been thrown back in laughter, the sun glinting on her face. When she eventually calmed down, he threw her the wittiest remark he could muster, making her dissolve into laughter again. "You're sweet, Thomas," she said suddenly. "Did you know that?"

He closed his eyes, trying to stop more tears spill out but he could feel them slipping out from between his eyelashes. She was an exception. A rarity. In all his life he'd never met anyone like her. Kind, caring, compassionate, determined to live a full and happy life and completely uninterested in what others would think as she tried to pursue her dreams. Last year when it had happened, he'd been too wrapped up in grief to properly think. This year, he thought of her and realised how lucky he felt to have been able to know her and call her his friend. He rolled his cigarette between his fingers, watching the tip of it glow a fierce red against the dark, inky-coloured sky. He let out a slow deep breath. "Here's to you Lady Sybil," he muttered.

 **Just a side note: Massive thank yous to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. Keep them coming!**

 **P.S. Who next? I have a few ideas, but if you want me to do anyone just ask. I'm open to suggestions.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello my lovely readers! I'm so sorry this later than usual, even if it is only by a few days. I had a bad case of writers block, because when you're writing something like this you need to make sure you don't get too repetitive. It's kind of hard to think up a storyline, yet still stick to a storyline. Does that even make sense? Whether it does or not, I hope you like this.**

Mrs Patmore sat alone in the kitchen a cup of tea that had long since cooled whilst she had been lost in deep reminiscence. Today had been one year since Lady Sybil died and all day, thoughts of the lovely young woman had drifted in and out of her mind. Now, with nearly everyone in bed she had some time to reflect on her.

In their youth, the three girls had run about the servants hall and snuck in the kitchens to ask for food before hurrying off so as not to be caught by Mr Carson. But as they grew up, the visits had gradually decreased until they eventually stopped altogether. After that she'd never interacted with the family, with the exception of Her Ladyship, who would come down to the menu plannings with her. Other than that, she had no reason to see them. She was just the person who made the meals for everyone.

So, in 1916, when Lady Sybil had arrived in the kitchen asking for some help in cooking she had been more than a little surprised. Completely flabbergasted was a phrase that described her better at the time. She'd been rather doubtful at first. Lady Sybil was unquestionably headstrong and determined and everyone who knew the Crawleys knew that. Mrs Patmore chuckled to herself. She had been no great shakes when it came to soup at first, but with a nod in the right direction and a great deal of resolve she'd proved her worth and blossomed.

 _Not just at cooking_ , Mrs Patmore thought. _At everything_. It was as if she'd found herself during the war. She'd discovered who she was meant to be, and become it. It was rather an incredible thing. Mrs Patmore considered herself pretty tough and she wasn't easily swayed. As a matter of fact, anyone who tried to argue with her generally didn't win. But Lady Sybil was even more stubborn that anyone she'd ever come across including herself.

When she'd first heard the news that she was going to marry Mr Branson, she had been surprised, but not very. There was whispered gossip behind Mr Carson's back as to whether it would actually happen, but Mrs Patmore knew that it would. Once Lady Sybil set her mind on something, she wouldn't back down. No-one could stop her. She sniffled suddenly, realising that silent tears had been running down her cheeks. She wiped them away from her face, but more came sliding down and she let them. It didn't hurt to cry, after all. It didn't hurt to show that she did miss Lady Sybil, even if the woman wasn't a member of her family, or even someone she'd known that well. What mattered was that Lady Sybil Crawley was special to her and she knew she wouldn't forget her while she lived.

 **I know this was slightly different from my other chapters, but I hope you liked it anyway. I think next chapter will be Violet, and hopefully on my usual day for updating the story. Thank you so much to every single one of you that has read this so far. As always, please review and I'll see you sometime soon for chapter 6.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi everyone! Massive apologies for saying that I would try to upload on my usual day (Thursday) and then being late again. Unfortunately I came down with a cold during the week, causing me to put off my writing because I felt complete lack of intellectual stimulation. Before you start reading, I just want to say that I'm unbelievably grateful to all of you reading my work and giving me lovely reviews that convince me that I can write and- this is turning into an Oscar acceptance speech now. Enjoy.**

She sat in her drawing room, staring into the middle of the room. She couldn't believe that a whole year had gone by since the anniversary of Sybil's death. She tried not to think of the horrible incident, but her youngest granddaughter often came into mind throughout her day to day life and an inevitable flood of memories would come rushing back to her sending wave after wave of sadness through her.

Now, she was recollecting the events of last year. Everything had been so golden that night when she left the house late at night after seeing Sybil for the last time and Sybbie for the first time. She had arrived home in high spirits despite her exhausted state and gone straight to bed. The next morning she sat eating her breakfast in bed when her maid arrived, handing her a note and telling her it had been delivered to the house by hand. When the maid was gone, she had opened it, her eyes scanning over the brief message that had caused an insurmountable grief to well up inside her.

She glanced at the chair opposite her, where the fabric was rumpled slightly, indicating that someone had recently vacated it. Tom had left the house just a few minutes earlier with the box of earrings she had intended Sybil to receive so many years ago. Despite herself, she let out a small chuckle. Sybil's social season was hardly the most enjoyable time of her life. They had all thought so, but perhaps they hadn't paid attention to what she really wanted. Perhaps they had assumed she would just be like Mary and Edith and all other young girls of her social class.

But Sybil wouldn't be content with some wealthy husband and a title that meant nothing to her. Violet smiled, although there was no-one there to see her. Granted, she'd probably been the last one to approve of her granddaughter's choice of husband. If she ever had approved. And she'd definitely attempted to smooth off the countless rough edges she'd seen surrounding him by fabricating the truth when people asked questions. But Sybil had found happiness. With someone who she loved. Who loved her just as much.

She now understood that that was a blessing. A gift. That though Sybil's time with Tom had been brief, that at the age of 24 she had left everyone and everything all too quickly she had been granted an endless feeling of happiness during her days of marriage that she would be able to spend her life with someone who was perfect for her. Violet remembered how, as she watched her granddaughters grow up, she had seen that Sybil had always been happy. Unlike Mary and Edith she hadn't been engaged in a war everyday, or bothered of how she appeared to other people. She'd just been looking for happiness, and did whatever it took to find it.

 **You probably now what I'm gonna say, right? Reviews would be amazing, because I love to hear what you think. Also, who would you like me to take on next week? I can almost never decide.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi readers! If there's still any left that is! I'm really can't apologise for the fact that this story has been abandoned for so long. My life has been getting increasingly busier, so I don't know how regular my updates will be in future, but I promise to keep updating. Also, I chose to wrote Dr. Clarkson for this chapter, but for a long time I wasn't sure what to write. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.**

Dr. Clarkson collapsed into the chair in his desk, exhausted. He'd been on his feet since this morning when he'd been called out to the village to visit a woman who had began going through the first stages of labour. When he got there, he'd noticed that she'd seem confused and rather distressed. Recognising the condition, he'd spoken with the family and they'd all agreed that it would be best if he operated. The result was a healthy mother and child.

He remembered a year ago when he had identified the same condition. But it was a different time, a different place. A different woman, this one going by the name of Lady Sybil Branson. And. . . a different result. One that had left everyone who knew her grief-stricken. Including him. He'd known the Crawley girls since their childhood right up to present day and still felt sad whenever he remembered the outcome of that awful night. Trying to distract himself, he picked up the newspaper on his desk but didn't get any further than the date. _27th May 1921_. There it was. Exactly one year today. He dropped the newspaper back on the desk.

He'd never forgive himself for what happened. Perhaps if he'd been a bit firmer, a bit more direct, she'd still be alive? But he hadn't and now she'd been dead for a year. _Don't_ , he told himself. _There's nothing you can do_. He knew that. He'd said much the same when they were gathered in her bedroom on that fateful night as her family stared in shock and disbelief, desperately begging her not to leave them.

But she had left them. It'd had been such a horrible moment when he reached in between Mr. Branson and Lady Grantham pressing his two fingers against her wrist and felt nothing. No strong steady pulse pounding back against his fingertips. During the war, when the men came in on stretchers and were laid down on the beds he always checked their pulse. And there was always a pulse. Sometimes a rapid beat going far too fast to be ignored or it was just a faint and weak reverberation that indicated immediate action was required. He hadn't felt either, or even anything in between. And in that moment when he couldn't detect a pulse he knew it was the end.

There probably wasn't a day that went by when he wasn't sad she was dead. There probably wouldn't a day when he didn't regret not intervening that night. There probably wouldn't be a day when he wouldn't remember her.

 **If you're feeling nice, reviews would be great!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone! This is a little midweek present to you all for two reasons: firstly, it makes me feel better that I'm updating this story again. Secondly, I really liked this chapter and wanted to see what you all thought of it. We all shipped Tom and Sybil, but what if there was another man that loved Sybil as well. . .?**

Tom Bellasis placed the telephone back down on the side table, and picked up his diary, preparing to mark in the date of his next meeting with his financial adviser. He filled in the date and time, then glanced back to today's schedule to see what was next on the agenda. Business had brought him to London, but he could only spare a few days so the last forty-eight hours had been non-stop. Now, there was something making him pause. The date. Had it been a year already? Yes, it had been.

His family had known the Crawley's rather well, but after the war they had lost contact. Therefore, it come as a great surprise when he had picked up the telephone one morning and hear Mary Crawley on the other end. The news had been an immense shock. He'd been greatly saddened as well, but kept himself composed and told her he'd come to the funeral. It had been a sad affair, but he had felt glad he'd gone. He met her husband, an Irish man also by the name of Tom who had seemed too wrapped in his grief to notice anything else was going on. He'd also had a glimpse of Sybil's daughter, a cherubic-looking baby with big eyes and tufts of dark hair. Just that brief view of her indicated that she would be the spitting image of her mother.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he had fallen in love with Sybil Crawley. At her coming out ball, he had danced with her several times and it was clear they enjoyed each other's company. But there had been more than the fact that she was a good dancer, and was a beautiful young woman. She was vivacious, intelligent, charming, witty and sarcastic. Tom was grateful she enjoyed his company, and they had many conversations peppered their comments to amuse each other. He let out a chuckle as he remembered at one of their friend's ball when he had made her laugh out loud whilst Imogen's uncle had been in the middle of a speech. It had drawn some disapproving glances, but when everyone had turned their attention back to the speech, her straight face slid straight back into that of someone who was failing to suppress their laughter.

He had decided after the London season to propose to her. But he'd been packed off to France to fight in the war. Despite regular visits home, plus a long period back in Britain, when he got struck down with a bad case pneumonia he never saw her again. He thought about her now and then, but that was it. Until that awful phone call from Mary.

The gold wedding band on his finger glinted in the sunlight. Last year he'd married Lady Cecilia Allerton, a petite woman with doe-shaped hazel eyes and thick red hair. She was smart, witty and had a sunny disposition. He was happy with her. But Sybil. . . she'd been the first woman to steal his heart. He'd always loved her first.

 **I know that Tom Bellasis was killed during the war, which upset Sybil, which made her take up nursing because she felt she was wasting her life, but I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews would be great!**


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